The Son of Nemesis
by AdamantineSilver
Summary: A new take on the life of Ethan Nakamura, before he joined Kronos.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hi! Silver here. This is my first fanfiction. It's about Ethan Nakamura from the Percy Jackson series; it explores what his life was life before he found Camp Half-Blood and joined Kronos.

*Note: Jaina is an OC, to be introduced later.

Prologue

Time seemed to slow for Ethan Nakamura as he tumbled through the fissure in the center of the grand Olympian throne room through the heart of Mount Olympus, and into the open air of Manhattan.

His life seemed to flash before his eyes: both the things he regretted and the things he was grateful to have done. Leaving Jaina behind. Trading the sight in his left eye for the chance to bring recognition to the minor gods and their children. Fleeing Antaeus' underground arena and leaving Percy behind. Joining Kronos.

He was surprised to feel hot tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He'd never known that he would have died, having been impaled in the stomach by his own sword and condemned by Kronos. He had always dreamed that _he_ would have been the hero of Olympus, the one who deposed the indifferent gods, the gods who let mortals and their own children suffer.

He had always believed that he could have really changed things.

The fact that his hope had proven false, unreal, just a shell made him feel empty. For such a long time, he'd been filled with a soaring, bursting feeling. He'd felt like he could fly at times. Purpose was a wonderful thing.

Purpose had given him hope, his downfall. Purpose gave a person a reason to exist. A reason for _him_ to exist. Yet it had ultimately led to his death.

The tears began to fall, and a dull ache began in his stomach. He figured that it was from the sword.

 _Impaled by my own sword_ , he thought. _How ironic_.

The air was rather cold, he noted. The tips of his fingers were beginning to go numb, and he realized that hope-purpose-was useless. This was the end.

His memories flew backward in fast-forward, and the tears fell more quickly.

All the people he'd ever known flashed behind his eyelids. His mother, Nemesis, goddess of revenge. Kronos, Lord of Time. Jaina-Marie Marque, daughter of Hecate. Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon. Annabeth. Antaeus. Chiron. So many faces, so many names. He knew he did not have time enough left to recall all of them.

He closed his eyes, and the memories stopped at one day steeped in rain and mist and misery. The day it had all started. The day he had run away from home and his alcoholic father.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Hello! Silver here. I'm really sorry this took a long time to update. School exists to make lives miserable. The update schedule will be erratic, but I will try my best.

Disclaimer: Don't own Percy Jackson…

Chapter 1: Flight

Ethan fled to his room at the end of the hall. Behind him, his father roared, "Come back here, you little shit!" Hakado Nakamura, Ethan's father, was in one of his drunken rages.

Safely in his room, Ethan sighed. He should have known it was going to happen. Whenever his father stayed out late, it was to drink in the the bar a few blocks away from their cramped city apartment. For as long as he could remember, it had just been him and his father in that apartment. For as long as he could remember, his father had been an alcoholic.

He'd never known his mother. There were no pictures of her in the house. He wondered what had happened to her. Had she died? Had she...left them?

He knew he would never know. On many of his father's better days, when he wasn't quite so drunk and not in such a bad mood, Ethan would ask about his mother. _Dad_ , he would say, _what was Mom like_? He was always cautious. He knew, from many an experience, that a good mood could go dark and flare up in an explosion of anger and incoherent, slurred words. Ugly words. Words that were meant to wound and scar.

He'd always wondered why his father had been this way, treating his only son with such contempt and loathing.

The first few times his father had turned on his son to vent his alcohol-induced rage, it had cut deeply. It had hurt, especially to a child as young as Ethan had been. He'd hide in his closet, his room door shut and locked with as many objects as he could move piled in front of it. He'd shiver in the darkness of his closet, the only light a sliver seeping under the door.

Ethan had used to wonder why a father could be so harsh and hurtful, especially to his own son. He'd done nothing wrong, at least nothing that he was aware of. He always listened to his father, worked hard in his academics, completed all his homework, and brought back consistently high grades. Yet still his father raged, yelling and screaming and cursing.

Over time, Ethan had become used to it. He had built a wall around him, brick by brick, day by day, word by word. Now, when his father flew into incoherence, he shut his mind to the curses and oaths, the anger that raged and boiled in his own blood, the anger he never took action upon.

But one day, things changed.

Ethan was locked in his room, while his father screamed behind him: "Come back here, you little shit!"

Something snapped.

All the anger he'd held back for days, weeks, months, years surged up in his chest in one roiling wave that burned and seared. He stood up from where he had slid down the wall next to the door, and straightened his back.

He threw open the door.

"I will not do this anymore!" Ethan's voice was defiant, strained with anger and tension. "I will not stand here and just let you abuse me! You-you call yourself my father? You're not even close, and you never will be!"

Hakado Nakamura stood stunned, his eyes widening at the first time his son had dared to speak back in fourteen years. "How dare you, you ungrateful little-" he growled. "I am your father. I am the reason you have a place to stay during the night. I am the reason you have food, I am the reason you have a roof over your head!"

"How can you say that?" Ethan's voice was cold and charged, tense with a frigid anger. "You're not my father. You've done nothing but abuse me, your own son! I've learned to take care of myself-because you never did. All you do is just drink yourself into goddamn oblivion! And you've never even said a single 'I love you' to me. Ever."

"You are not to talk back to me!" And at that, Ethan's father swung a fist forward and caught his son on the jaw. "You are an ungrateful, useless piece of crap! You are _worthless_."

Ethan was not surprised. This had happened many times before, but this time was different. He was not going to stand and just take all that was being thrown at him. In a split second's time, he had decided that he was going to fight back, and stood, back straight and chin up, defiance glittering in his eyes.

"You are not my father, and this is not my home. I hate you, and always will. Goodbye." The last word was spoken with a resonating finality that echoed in the sudden silence.

Ethan retreated into his room for a short second to retrieve his backpack, a jacket, and a plastic bag filled with twenty-dollar bills that he'd accumulated over the years, away from the watchful eye of his father, should he ever need it.

With that, he pushed past his stunned father, past the kitchen with its dish-filled sink, and shoved open the door, storming through it.

He slammed it behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Hey! Silver here! So, like I said in the A/N of Chapter 1, I'm working on establishing some sort of update schedule, and if I can't, I'll just try to update whenever I can. Also, I've been away for three weeks just now, so I'll try to make up for it. I hope whoever reads enjoys Chapter 2! Please remember to read and review if you like it.

Chapter 2: Don't Look Back

Regret.

Regret.

That was all Ethan could feel under the adrenaline that still surged through his body, elevating his heart rate and sharpening his vision.

He didn't know what to do. He knew he had disrupted the flow of things, which might not necessarily be a bad thing. He put a hand to his forehead, and his thoughts, initially suppressed by the adrenaline, began to flow again. _Oh, my God. What have I done? I-I'm done. Screwed. As good as dead, I guess._

Ethan knew what he had just done had been a product of impulsivity and anger-leaving the only place he had. The roof over his head. His home for the last fourteen years.

It had been his home, in the literal sense, but what about in other aspects? _That apartment...it's never been a...home to me. It's just the place...the place that I sleep in at night_. This realization brought with it a burst of lightheadedness, and Ethan closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

He sat there, and thought.

He realized that he couldn't very well go back, could he? His father...there was no telling what his father might do. He might beat Ethan...or even worse. Ethan didn't want to think about it, but his mind kept on straying.

 _I've...I've never been on my own_.

For the past fourteen years, he'd only had one other person in his life: his father. Although his father had mistreated him, hit him, abused him, he was still the only person in his life, and though he hated to admit it, even to himself, his father was the reason he was alive today.

 _I...I don't think I can leave_.

Then he really thought about it.

He'd learned to do things on his own ever since he had been in the middle years of elementary school-how to do laundry, make his own breakfast, do his own homework. All of it. And he was always alone. Never had his father there for Parent Career Day at Currer Elementary School. The other kids had always bragged; one might say "My dad's a policeman!" and another "My dad is better! He knows how to solve any math problem!" and on and on they went. It was inevitable that they turn to Ethan eventually, and ask him what his dad did, and why he wasn't there for Parent Career Day. He could only stammer an answer, like "My dad's...a banker. He's on a trip...yeah. A business trip."

They would never believe him, but after a couple of weird looks and whispered comments sent his way and about him, they would always subside with giggles hidden behind their hands. Thank God it would always be over by the next day. He didn't know if he could handle a bunch of his peers constantly talking and staring about him.

Anyway, he'd always been alone. He could be on his own, and he would be fine. His father...had never helped him.

He'd never really had a father.

He'd never really had a home, either.

The apartment wasn't really a home. It wasn't warm, or comforting. Especially not the place he looked forward to coming home to every day after school.

He surprised himself when tears began to leak down his face at the realization. Ethan had never taken himself for an especially emotional person. He'd always have to wear an emotionless mask to school every day, especially the days after his father had hit him, but that mask had gradually become his natural expression.

He wasn't loved at home. He wasn't liked at school, except maybe by his teachers, who only liked his academic abilities. His father had never shown love, ever, and so after putting on that mask every morning, Ethan had grown to never take it off. His father's ignorance had become regular, mundane, everyday, expected.

On a rare day, he would take the mask off, and emotion would filter into his blank visage, like sunlight filtering in through a cracked window, the rest of the light blocked from dust having collected over years of disuse.

On those days, when his father demonstrated anew how much he didn't love his son, Ethan's heart would break. And so, he began to take the mask off less and less, so as to avoid such pain-the pain that prompted silent tears as he lay during the night with his face buried into the pillow to muffle the sound of his crying.

He swallowed hard once again, and after a minute, managed to stop the tears. He was leaving. He was leaving behind a man who wasn't his father, and a cramped, dingy apartment that wasn't his home.

What was he losing? He didn't know, but Ethan felt like it was something.

Then, it hit him. His mother. If he left now, he might never know who his mother was. The black-haired boy standing at his apartment doorstep thought over the situation one more time. Leave, and never know his mother? Leave, and never know a mother that had abandoned him? Abandoned him to the mercy of his father?

He thought again.

What was there to lose? Nothing. He turned, and walked down the hallway to the elevator. It felt odd, certainly. Here he was, walking down the hallway like it was a normal day.

He continued, one foot in front of the other. Right, left, right, left. He reached the elevator, and pressed the "Down" button. Soon enough, the elevator arrived at his floor, the fifth, with a _ding_. He stepped in, the only person in it.

For what he knew would be the last time, he pressed the "L" button for the lobby and hit the door-close button. With a creak of metal, the door slid closed, and the elevator began its descent.

As he stood in the elevator for the last time, he caught sight of a vague, blurry semblance of a reflection in the steel of the elevator. Ethan looked at his own mirror image, trying to find some resemblance between what he felt like and what he could see.

The image was too blurred to make out anything.

The elevator arrived at the lobby floor, and he stepped out, over the threshold, and onto the carpeted floor for the last time. The glass doors were just a couple of yards away, and he crossed those yards in a couple of quick seconds.

One more minute, and he was outside, on one of the many sidewalks that wound their way throughout New York City. _I'm leaving,_ he thought. _I'm leaving for good_. The thought filled him with an odd feeling of freedom, and he realized that world was his to explore.

He was, he realized, breaking free.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Hey guys! Silver here with Chapter 3. Please remember to review if you like! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Nope. I don't own _Percy Jackson and the Olympians_.

Chapter 3: Tiled Floors and Emerald Eyes

Ethan stood on the sidewalk, the heady exhilaration of his new-found freedom coursing through his veins. The smell of the city, smoke and rain and dust, filled his nose.

The colors, the smells, seemed sharper, heavier, brighter. He felt like he was on top of the world, euphoria inundating him, flooding his senses, filling him with the feeling that he could fly, run a million miles, do anything.

Then, reality hit him. Even though he'd finally freed himself from his father, he was alone in the city. He didn't have a home, or at least a place to sleep at night. He was completely alone. _Yes,_ he realized, _freedom does come with a price...a heavy one at that._

There he was, standing alone on the sidewalk in front of what used to be his building, with no father, no friends, no anything. Just a backpack, a jacket, and some money. Not much. He couldn't help but feel a momentary surge of overpowering jealousy for what all his classmates had. They had two loving parents, a welcoming home, friends. He'd always been the loner, the one that had always worked alone in class, the odd one out.

Ethan shook himself out of his reverie, and was met with the realization that he had no idea where to go next. After deliberating for a moment, he was left with one conclusion-there was, ultimately, only one direction to go. Away. He had to get away from this place, this cramped, filthy apartment. He had to get away from his father.

Ethan took one step, and then another. His gaze was unsure, and it kept on darting about, flicking around the street, looking for one definitive destination, and finally settled on a subway station a few meters down.

The green-painted bars rose from the ground, surrounding the entrance to the underground subway network. The paint that covered the thin metal bars was peeling, flaking, after years and years of exposure to the elements. It mirrored the way Ethan himself felt, being forced to maintain an exterior meant to trick people into believing that he was actually happy.

Underneath, though, he knew he was far from even any semblance of happiness. On the inside, he was tired, and worn. He was tired of pretending, of keeping on an emotionless mask through day and night. He was worn from years of relentless abuse.

He set off toward the entrance of the station. The air was chilled, filled with the bone-deep frostiness of coming winter, and he shivered. Sliding his backpack off his shoulders and setting it down for a second, he pulled his jacket on, even though it was scant protection.

Walking down the stairs that led to the underground, he was met with a blast of warm, moist air. Thick and cloying, it clung to his skin, an unwelcome change from the cool, dry air of aboveground. Wiping the sweat that had already begun to bead on his forehead, he walked over to the ticket vending machine, and, sliding one bag strap off his shoulders and unzipping the main pocket, pulled out his MetroCard.

He stepped to the turnstile, slid his card through the slot, pushed the metal bar, and stepped through to the tunnel. Ethan scanned the subway route map, looking for a place, any place, he could go, even temporarily. Just to get away from that cramped apartment. _Oh_ , he realized. _I can stay at Central Park for a while. Just...just until it gets dark, at least_. Noting the line he had to take (C line), he started toward the tunnel the C train would pull into in 10 minutes time. Within a minute, he was there.

The tunnel was mostly empty. Not many people waited for the C train, and what few there were waited in silence. One guy tapped a foot on the worn white tiles, his slouched position and crossed arms suggesting impatience. Sunglasses, even though the sky outside was gray and overcast, shaded his eyes. A woman in sweatpants and a puffy winter jacket waited some feet away, the shadows under her eyes and her demeanor suggesting that she was exhausted. A few meters away from the woman, a girl who looked about his own age, around fourteen, leaned against the wall. Her hair was a pale, pale blonde, almost the color of corn silk, but a little darker. Sharp, alert eyes the color of emeralds darted from side to side, flicked up and down, watchful.

Ethan swung his glance away from the people who waited for the C train, and retreated a few steps to lean against the multicolored tile wall, sliding his backpack off his shoulders to rest it on his feet. He could feel every the outline of every individual tile, pressing against his back and shoulder blades through the thin jacket that covered his frame.

A couple of minutes passed in silence, some people coming and going from the tunnel, their footsteps echoing in the elongated emptiness of the tiled expanse that faded into soft darkness on either side.

The silence was almost overwhelming, seeming to press into his eardrums, as prominent and obvious as any loud noise. It blanketed his senses, draped over his skin. It was almost tangible, like the heavy moisture in the air that hung there on a humid day. He brushed at his neck, futilely trying to rid himself of the feeling that seemed to have adhered itself to his skin, then gave up and just placed his hands by his sides.

One minute passed. He stayed like that.

Another minute passed.

Three. Four.

The train was due to arrive within the next minute, and Ethan swept his gaze around in an arc through his field of vision.

Then, he noticed that Sunglasses Guy had taken his sunglasses off and was staring straight at him with eyes that were completely white.

Wait.

What?

Then, as if on cue, the C train's lights shone far down the tunnel, casting beams of yellow light on the grimy tiles that covered the walls of the tunnel. Another glance over told Ethan that Sunglasses Guy was a few steps closer than he had been the last time Ethan had looked over. He advanced, his gait rigid, stiff, arms outstretched, hands on the ends of them curled into claws. Slinging his bag back over his shoulders, Ethan began to back away, at first slowly, then with great, desperate strides. He barely noticed when his foot hit the bumpy strip of yellow that marked the edge of the platform.

And then Sunglasses Guy lunged.

He took a great soaring leap toward Ethan, and in midair, changed. One moment he was a man, and then he was a...a _thing_. His face elongated into a great, scaled snout, dark green mottled with splotches of rust red. Great, curled horns erupted from behind his ears, the color of the dry leaf litter that lined forest trails. His body twisted, the skin rippling and forming into diamond-shaped scales, and his limbs shot outward, now the legs of a lizard, but with long, curling, _deadly_ claws.

Ethan didn't have time to fall before the creature - _a_ _monster_ \- was upon him, its claws digging into his shoulders and ripping - and crimson blood began to stain his jacket. The force of the collision brought them both onto the subway tracks, and he hit his head hard on the metal rod that formed the side of the rail.

He heard a sickening _crack_ that made his stomach roil and turn with nausea, and then his vision was black for a moment, but came back in a landscape of blurriness and black splotches. Then he realized that the cracking noise had been his _head_. _Shit_ , he thought. _I'm screwed_.

Then, suddenly, a cool hand closed around his and a pale face entered his field of vision. It was the girl from earlier, with the hair a few shades darker than corn silk and the frenetic green eyes. Those emerald eyes were now filled with sharp-edged anger, and underneath that, raw fear. As those eyes caught and held his gaze, he felt as though his body was being seized, twisted - and suddenly, impossibly, Ethan found himself lying on the tiled platform.

The train roared by.

"Who-who are you?" he managed to gasp out at the girl still clasping his hand. Great flashes of color were now fading in and out in front of his eyes, pulsing in time with the roiling heat that surged through his body.

"My name," she said, "is Jaina-Marie."

Then, mercifully, he blacked out.


End file.
